Portraits of History
by CelticGames4
Summary: A compilation of short Hetalia one-shots based on History, the show, and requests from the readers. Get some brief glances at the history of the world, some drunken nations, and some bonus scenes from show segments such as "Running Away with Mr. Sweden," "America's Storage Room Cleaning," and "Boss Spain & Chibi Romano"! Come, read, and request what you'd like to see next!
1. The Search For A Child

Chapter 1: The Search for A Child (Part I)

_It was the early 1500's. Spain at this time was young, not having any other nations to talk to. The other nations were still growing to nations from groups of kingdoms, leaving poor Spain very lonely! _

"Where do you think you're going!?" Spain's first boss, King Ferdinand, made him stop short. The young nation turned around, "Oh, my king, I want to go to the new world with the _conquistadors_! Oh, please, please let me go!"

"You are too young to brave the sea." Who knew what would happen if his nation drowned?!

"Oh, _please?! _Won't you let me go with a _conquistador_!?"

Queen Isabella approached her King and Country. "What is this argument about!?" she asked. In the short time that Spain had been growing, he really had not argued with his bosses.

"Oh Queen Isabella! I am _muy solitario_! But… Maybe… Since the _conquistadors_ are making colonies in the New World… Just maybe… There is a child there like me!"

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I cannot," he confessed honestly. "But… Maybe I could find out! Please please please _please_! I will get there before _mi hermano Portugal, _just like our explorers did. If Portugal finds _el bebé _before I do, who knows what disaster might happen!?"

The King and his Queen exchanged a look, obviously debating it. Finally, she nodded and he nodded in agreement. "Fine. You can go on _one _voyage. But you must stay safe and come back."

The young country grinned, his green eyes shining with happiness. It was one of the first times this happened, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

_**A/N: Hello, welcome to this story I thought up during my AP American History Class! I will warn you that I've watched all 5 seasons of the show but I'm still working on reading the manga, so if I do any scenes that are put in the manga, I'm sorry. I was bored and wanted to write something short and sweet so this is what I came up with. This arc will eventually be continued, and I'll be writing a lot of random one-shots through the year with historical stuff, as well as stuff from the segments of the show (bonus scenes, if you will), and pretty much anything else I think of. **_

_**Please, request what you want to see next! Thanks for reading!**_


	2. Pinky Promise

Chapter Two: Pinky Promise

The tiny nation had chubby baby cheeks, blue eyes that were almost purple, and blonde hair with one stubborn strand that curls and just refuses to go down.

France took good care of him, though he lived all the way across the ocean from Canada, so sometimes the child had a lot of time by himself. He barely made a name for himself like his brother America, so he was somewhat lonely, as well. Kumajiro soon came into the picture and that helped immensely with coping the lonliness of being without his big brother France.

But, not even the polar bear could replace France.

The child wanted to grow up and be just like his big brother. France was a hit with everyone he talked to, after all. So, on one of those long days he had by himself, Canada decided he wanted to look like France. Then it would just be a matter of time before more people talked to him.

The child sat in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection.

"Who are you?" asked Kumajiro, and the child mumbled, "I am Canada."

Then he got to work with a brush, trying to make his hair as smooth and long as France's was. Kumajiro sat by him and watched. Canada tugged on the curl that was sticking out and tried to smooth it down with his hands. When that didn't work, he licked his fingers, and pressed on it, but that didn't work either.

Suddenly, he heard someone enter the house and Canada shot up. France went up to his bedroom and called, "Canada?" He peeked in and found the child and bear in front of the mirror.

"_Grand frère_!" Canada squeaked delightedly, running over and hugging his legs. France laughed and picked Canada up. "I am sorry it has been so long, Canada!" he said, "But it's been… Quite a busy decade."

"You are here now though!"

France patted his little brother's head, "_But of course_ I am! What were you doing by that mirror, anyways?" He was curious.

"I was trying to look like you, _grand frère! _I want to be just like you when I get big so people will like me!" France sat down and held tiny Canada on his lap, Kumajiro following and complaining about not being carried.

"But _mon cher_, you do not have to be like me to make friends! What would make you think _that?_!"

"People like you a lot, _grand frère, _but they never pay attention to me! I thought if I was just like you, they'd look at me!"

France just laughed a little, "Oh Canada, you are still very young and have a lot to learn! There is no reason to be just like me! You must be unique. You are young, and I am more experienced right now. When you grow up and get experience as a country, you will establish a name for yourself and people will come flocking to you!"

His little brother watched with shining, curious eyes. "That means that you must keep on being who you are, not me. Starting with this hair…" he puffed Canada's hair a little bit and put the stubborn curl back in its usual place.

Then he beamed at his little brother, patting Canada's head and smiling. Canada felt a lot more like himself and smiled back. "There you go," France whispered, patting his head.

Canada wrapped his small arms around France's torso and hugged him tightly, giggling a little. Then he thought of something and said into France's chest, "Promise you will never forget me. _S'il vous plaît_, promise!"

France kept a hand on Canada's head, and looked at him with very serious blue eyes. "Oh Canada, I promise I will never forget you no matter what happens. You will never be forgotten!"

The child held out a tiny hand. "Pinky promise?"

France laughed a little, gently linking their pinkies together. "Pinky promise."

Noticing how Canada blinked his eyes sleepily, France laughed and picked him up. "I think it is your nap time now!"

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_Translations: _

_Grand frère: Big brother_

_Mon cher: My dear_

_S'il vous plait: Please_

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_**A/N: Thank you to Big Eater Queen for the request! It was a lot of fun! Also, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! Keep the requests coming people! **_


	3. THE GREAT PRUSSIA'S DIARY

_**A/N: Thank you everyone (all three of you :P) for your reviews! Really, they all mean so much to me and I always get super excited when I see them! Also thanks to my followers and favoriters as well! Never be scared to review! ;) The next chapter will probably be a one-shot from the RP forum I'm on, but I'll advertise that when I write it. Thank you Kelly for your request! It was very fun to write!**_

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**THE GREAT PRUSSIA'S DIARY: VOLUME 264**

_Guess who is awesome? I will give you a hint, it is not you. IT IS ME! _

_I am awesome, yes, though it is taking me quite a long time to respond to Prussia. I was always the Teutonic Knights, but I guess Prussia takes priority over that now. Ah, well, no matter, I am still the same me and I am still awesome. _

_That weirdo Poland recently granted a new Duke of Prussia, and everything is changing. Change is kind of scary, but I will adjust awesomely to whatever obstacles are thrown my way because I am awesome. Mein Gott, Poland is SUCH A WEIRDO! _

_Anyways, my stupid boss decided to marry some chick from Denmark named Dorothea. Many of the knights, many of MY knights, did them same! Now I, the awesome Prussia, will have to spend time with DENMARK! _

_Denmark is a loud nation with spiked hair and a hankering for alcohol. I do not know what I want to think about him yet, other than the fact that he is not as awesome as me. But, come on, you should know by now that's a given!_

_After going through so much in my beloved band of Teutonic Knights… Trying to communicate with that jerk France and the other stupid countries we tried to ally with. _

_I am still young, and though I am already awesome, my mature awesomeness is still budding. (I think I am starting to go through puberty, the same thing that made little boys into powerful men! I am going to be SO awesome when I grow up big and strong!) _

_Anyways, I am still young, and my leaders have said that we are crusading, fighting, and living for God. I have learned that God is the most awesome thing in the universe (next to me, but I get smacked when I say that to my knights), and he created the Earth and the moon and the stars. And me, too. Yes, he created me, and our Teutonic Knights. _

_Which means that when God created me, his awesomeness rubbed off on me. My awesomeness came from God, and nobody in my country can argue me on that. Yeah. _

_God and I can be awesome together forever. (Except I will always be just a teensy weensy tiny winy bit awesomer. That's okay, though, because God will save me as long as I behave, pray, and confess.)_

_If my boss sees this diary entry, he will whoop my ass. I must keep it hidden away from others, until I need it again. _

_After all, who knows when you'll need your old diaries? _


	4. The Third Floor

**_A/N: This scene comes from an arc I was a part of on a RP forum. It's really fun, and if you have the time I'd totally recommend you check it out! Elizabeth is Ireland, an OC that belongs to kellythehetaliafan, not me. forum/Hetalia-The-Roleplay/156203/ _**

Chapter Four: The Third Floor

_~Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. Posth.- Chopin~_

Roderich Edelstein was autistic. He lived in a corrupted Mental Hospital with a group of other mental patients. Roderich liked therapy through music more than he'd ever liked anything in his life, and through learning and teaching piano, he'd found some kind of escape from things that have been haunting him.

However, sometimes he held the piano closer than he'd ever held his friends, when he really needed friends who understand or partially understand his pain just as much as he needed the music he played all the time.

It had been another long day at the hospital: today it included playing sleepover games with the other patients. It had been a long day, but at least he had held onto control enough so as to not get sent to the third floor.

The Third Floor was a place no patient wanted to go. The _doctors _up there, who Roderich figured were more like torturers, had more gruesome ways of trying to calm patients down. As a result, Roderich barely trusted the doctors downstairs any more than he trusted those upstairs. Dr. Mathias and Dr. Elizabeth and the intern and cook Antonio… They seemed nice but Roderich learned from his past experiences to never trust people based on how they _seem._

After saying a very crabby _good night _to the other patients, Roderich retired to his bedroom. He slid his glasses off, changing into an oversized T-shirt and pair of sweat pants, turning off the lights, and lying awake. In a desperate attempt to doze off, he grabbed his favorite pocket watch from the shelf, feeling it tick quietly in his palm, before winding it up and listening to his favorite Nocturne from Chopin (No. 2 Op. 9) play quietly.

He continued to toss and turn, soon getting overheated and shedding off the covers, continuing to roll around to try and cool down a little. Finally, he felt himself drift off to an uneasy sleep.

Darkness soon turned into the sitting room of the hospital, in which the patients played their games. Roderich was there, but he wasn't in full control _already. _He was much too used to losing control like this.

Dr. Elizabeth smiled at him from across the room as she asked him, "Roderich, truth or dare?"

The Austrian patient shifted a little as he spewed out, "Truth." Inside, Roderich knew where this was going, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Have you _ever_ had a crush on a boy in your life?" she asked. Roderich shifted uncomfortably and knew where this was about to go.

Thinking about Gilbert, the nice boy at school, the only one who treated Roderich like he was a person, even though Rod had to be guided around by an adult _helper, _even though sometimes he lost control in school and screamed and cried and had to be calmed down… Gilbert was his only friend, and he was someone Roderich developed feelings for beyond friendship.

Suddenly, as if being shoved in a vortex, he finds himself slightly younger, in high school, walking in the autumn air, his adult helper (more like slave-trader) next to him as they opened the doors of the facility and stepped inside.

"Have a good night," the helper said, turning and walking away. Roderich took off his boots and jacket and walked to the cafeteria, where he sat with a slightly younger Antonio (still nothing but a job-shadower) and a couple other blurry faces.

"How was school?" he asked, with a smile that Roderich looked away from.

"I think I have a crush." The words came spilling out of him before he could stop them. He was trying so hard to keep from reliving this scene, but it didn't work. He couldn't control himself in the dream, just like in real life.

"Really!? _Dios mio!_ That's wonderful! Who is it Rod!?" Antonio was so excited, his green eyes glinted with happiness.

Roderich wasn't feeling quite so happy. He played with his food and said nothing.

"It is nothing good," he mumbled.

"_Que!?_ Why not!? Is she taken!?"

"No," he mumbled, humiliated. _DON'T SAY IT RODERICH! DON'T- _"It is not a girl."

"Not a girl!? Oh, Roderich! That is very exciting! Thank you for telling!" Could he be any louder!?

Needless to say, it didn't take very long for Roderich to become the talk of the patients and doctors. He knew it would've gotten out even if Antonio hadn't known, but he needed someone to blame it on and he was the only one around.

He was angry, and he was losing control again. Screaming curses and angry words at Antonio, his friend. The more time went on, the angrier he felt, and the more control he lost. Part of him deep inside knew he was wrong, and he shouldn't be doing this, but there was nothing he could do to help it now.

Before he could get himself together, he was dragged by some less than nice guys up the stairs.

_The Third Floor. _

"No!" Roderich thrashed in the tight grips of the men that were holding him, "NO! YOU BASTARDS CAN'T MAKE ME GO UP THERE!" But they could, and they would.

Shoved down, his knees smacked the unforgiving tile floor. Wrists and ankles bound to a post, shirt ripped off his body, lost his glasses on the floor in front of him… All he could do was wait for the impact of whatever torturous device they were going to use on him.

"Roderich Edelstein," said a raspy voice, as a sharp-feeling object smacked his skin with the crack that made him figure it was a whip. Oh, how he wished his parents would've cared about him enough to keep him with them in Austria, not send him here, to this poor, corrupt little shack of a hospital!

He was still out of control, like a monster. He struggled with the metal shackles on his wrists, tugging as hard as his strength would let him. Each crack of the whip opened new wounds on his back.

_He had been punished up here before, sure, but never whipped. Not until today. _

"STOP IT BASTARDS! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!?" he thrashed so violently it hurt, but he had to get out. Tears were pouring out of his eyes, sharp and painful.

"The talk of the town is that you're a faggot now," said the raspy voice. "We have to ensure that this unhealthy habit of yours is gone forever."

_How'd they know that!?_

A second's delay of him remembering, then he shouted, "ANTONIO!"

After that he said no more words, just howled with pain and anger and rage, thrashing and trying to get out of there, trying to break free with each crack of the whip

"You'll never get better again if this continues, Roderich," the raspy voice said.

_Crack!_

"This is for your own good."

_Crack!_

"The kids at school would give you trouble if we wouldn't have interjected."

_Crack!_

"We're helping you, Roderich."

_Crack! _

"You'll thank us later when you know better."

_Crack!_

"You're too much of a freak already to have anything else freaky about you."

_Crack!_

"You're going to have a hard enough time finding love with a woman, let alone another man, you're so unlovable."

_Crack!_

"Imagine what would happen if this boy found out."

_Crack!_

"Imagine how disgusted he'd be! An autistic faggot having the audacity to like him!"

_Crack!_

That's when a voice in his head said, _"Gilbert isn't like that." _

He forced himself to speak, through tears and clenched teeth, after a howl, voice shaking… "Gilbert isn't _like_ that."

After that, he took the rest of the punishment somewhat quietly, whimpering to himself. Soon he slouched over, ducking his head and doing nothing but hum his vocal chords and taking the rest of the whippings until he passed out.

_But apparently Gilbert __**is**__ like that._

~.~.

It was no wonder that he didn't want to talk much that morning. It was no wonder he didn't want to talk to anyone, especially not Antonio. He felt like shit, wanted to forget Gilbert and that day he just stopped talking to Roderich.

And it was just Roderich's luck that the same day, the same day as his past was handed right back to him, the same day he took no time to look presentable and walked around tiredly in a T-shirt and sweats, was the day that the Third Floor would be shut down for good. The patients would have to reflect, say what happened to the police… And one of them was one Roderich knew all too well.

The one he had endured so much for. The one he had stood up for. The reason Roderich is terrified of his scars in the first place.

Gilbert.


	5. Words

_**A/N: Hey, so thanks to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed the story so far. It means a lot. So I was in a major block so I just started typing and this is what happened, so sorry. To those who've submitted requests that I haven't gotten to yet, I promise I'm going to get on that. I just want to be really inspired/comfortable when I write your chapters for you so that they're quality. So, I'll definitely be on that, I promise. **_

_**Trigger warning: this is a very dark chapter that includes extreme self-harm and depression. So if you're triggered by that, I just suggest you don't read. **_

_**This chapter features my OC Sri Lanka, AKA Ravindu Rajapakse, and is set in the same universe as the last one with Roderich was. **_

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Chapter Five: Words

Every day he had a word.

Sometimes it was the same word as the day before, sometimes it was different, more creative, more relevant to the events of that day, sometimes it was a synonym that was chosen for no other reason than the fact that it had more letters.

Every day, Ravindu Rajapakse had a word. And they were never very nice words.

They were nasty words that he figured applied to him. _IGNORED, FORGOTTEN, FAILURE, PUSSY, HOARDER, BASTARD, OUTCAST, LOSER. _Those were only a few of them. A few of the less-harsh ones.

Every day he had a word. Every day he'd be branded with it. The most popular spot was his forearm, where the scars shaped like letters clashed so much the words were no longer legible. A few of those ones that he never wanted to forget were branded on other spots. _DISAPPOINTMENT, _on his left thigh. _WEAKLING, _down his right calf. _UNSALVAGEABLE, _one of the ugliest ones, written across his stomach.

On good days, he chose short words. Simple things, like _DUMB, _or _CREEP. _On bad days, though, that's when scars would be reopened. When _DISAPPOINTMENT _and _UNSALVAGEABLE _are diligently traced over again.

People often commented that he had very neat handwriting. _How did they think he achieved such a thing? _

It started when he was back home in Sri Lanka. When his family wanted him to live a positive Buddhist lifestyle, but he just couldn't see beauty in anything. The wounds started out as simple lines, just one or two, across his hips. Then it turned into words. His first word was _SCUM. _It's buried so deep under the scars of other words that it's forever disappeared. Disappeared, that is, until Ravindu Rajapakse runs out of words and starts the cycle over again.

He wrote all the words down in a book to make sure he never forgot. He kept the book hidden, never to be found by anyone but himself. Nobody ever came into his room, anyways. They'd never see.

They'd never find the stockpiles Ravindu had. The drawers full of pills never-taken. Then razor blades hidden in the folds of his clothes. Nobody would look there. It's because they're ignorant to the fact that Ravindu's depressed and anxious and upset.

It's always been easy to sneak blades. He took them one at a time, nobody ever cares enough to count how many blades are there. Nobody ever noticed he was even there, and it was always easier that way. Ravindu was too afraid to make friends, because he was anxious and he just couldn't make himself trust people.

Today was a bad day. Another day of being unnoticed. Another day that he's here, with a blade in his fingers. Another day that nobody cared enough to ask about him.

Another day that more and more of the hospital's patients are unhappy that deserve to be happy.

_Why do bad things happen to good people? Why must they suffer so much like this? _

_It just isn't fair. _

He wanted to help. But he could think of nothing to say. Nothing to comfort them.

Today's word of the day was _USELESS. _He felt useless much too often. So he got to work carving it on his right thigh, in choppy letters. With each jolt of pain, some twisted form of relief pumped through his body. It was an unhealthy way to get it out, he knew that, but who was left to care?

Soon the bloody rag was hidden, the blade wiped clean and put in the drawer with the others, and Ravindu put on a pair of jeans, an oversized hoody, and a smile, and walked out to the kitchen area so people wouldn't be worried about him.

"Good evening Ravindu!" Antonio sang happily, giving him a helping of roast beef and noodles for dinner.

The Sri Lankan smiled and bowed a little in greeting. "Thanks," he said quietly, walking off to take a table on his own and smiling at everyone he saw on the way, even though it was easy to tell a lot of them were hurting.

Watching him walk away, Antonio couldn't help but think what a happy kid he was.

Ravindu was always deceiving like that.


End file.
